


Electrified

by doxian



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Community: homesmut, Danger Kink, Helmsman, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Power Kink, Psionics, Unresolved Sexual Tension, fused Alternia/Earth, weapons-grade brain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doxian/pseuds/doxian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You haven't figured out what your new, post-game purpose is yet - if there even is one. You wonder if he - the Psiioniic, everyone calls him - feels as out of place in this world as you do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electrified

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amberite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberite/gifts).



> This began half as a response in the [rarepair swap thread](http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/39135.html?thread=41648351#cmt41648351):
> 
> "Bro/Psiioniic, something with smouldering glances and weird quiet sexual tension."
> 
> ...and half as a response to this [weapons-grade brain/power kink prompt](http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/39135.html?thread=43337183#cmt43337183), both on the kink meme:
> 
> "sooo the Captors all have essentially weapons-grade brains; they could quite literally kill you with their minds. am i the only one who finds that oddly hot? i'd like to see a Captor getting it on with another character, with the other character suddenly realizing that holy shit no matter how much stronger i am than this guy physically he'd be able to basically kill/seriously hurt me with just a thought"
> 
> ...but it kind of took on a life of it's own. Here is the result.
> 
>  _Edit:_ Retroactively gifting this to Amberite because I was pretty much writing it for them when I was, well, writing it.
> 
> Also includes mentions of body horror and body dysphoria.

You watch him sometimes - the Psiioniic, everyone calls him. 

Okay, fine, you watch him a lot. It's not as if you've got fuck all else to do. You're still figuring out exactly where you fit in in this new world - with your not-self and your immortal brother and his equally invincible friends. They have their work cut out for them with an entire new universe to build. And the times you've tried to help, you'd only succeeded in getting in the way. In fact, you had a strong niggling that Dave was babysitting you - keeping so close by that you noticed him out of the corner of your eye no matter where you went.

Fair enough. Another version of him had already seen you die once. You doubt he's at all eager for a repeat performance.

And it was Dave's turn, now, to step up and do what you'd been training him to do ever since he was a baby. No, not exactly - Dave had gone above and beyond that, become a hero in his own right. And he'd done it without any of your help, while you were still floating in the dream bubbles with the rest of the ghosts. He had blossomed from a child into a young man-slash-demigod while your back was turned. You've shed many a manly, sentimental tear from the privacy of your room over that. 

Crazy actual worldbuilding shit aside, you and Dave have also reached that awkward point in every guardian-ectometeorbaby relationship where he now has his own stuff going on. Stuff that does not involve you. You'd barged into his room in your shared apartment complex - oh, sorry, _hivestem_ \- with a new rap or some bullshit one day and you'd ended up rudely interrupting what looked to be Dave getting his prime mack on with the loud, messy-haired, nubby-horned alien. You'd gotten out of there as quickly as your flashstep allowed - Dave yelling about you not knocking and you yelling about him not locking his door when engaging in sloppy makeouts. You'd both been embarrassingly red in the face.

Like you said. Awkward. 

You needed to back off and give Dave a bit of space where he could, well, be an individual. 

You could do that, sure. Yeah. Easy. 

So you let the kids get on with it and kicked a few projects around, instead. Somehow, though, sick beats and designing new puppets didn't hold the same luster as before. Dying and seeing the world end will do that to a guy, you guess. You do like being alive - seriously, nothing beats existing and growing and not being surrounded by the permanent stasis of your own memories - but in some ways it doesn't make _sense_ for you to be here anymore. You'd gotten Dave ready for the game, you had done what you needed to do. You haven't figured out what your new, post-game purpose is yet - if there even is one.

So you watch the Psiioniic. You flashstep around the hivestem and try your best to keep out of his sight, but you think he notices you anyway, even though he never shows any sign of it. 

He doesn't walk. He floats, surrounded by red-blue energy. And when he sits, he sits very, very still. Sometimes it doesn't even look like he's breathing. You rarely see him pick anything up with his bare hands - he seems to prefer to move things with the same telekinetic power that you assume he uses to constantly hover inches off the ground. 

A couple of the other older trolls visit him sometimes - the guy in the too-high pants and a cowl that makes him look like he walked out of an old-school fantasy novel, and the positively feral-looking broad with tangled hair. Whenever they're over, they pull him towards a corner of the living room into a pile of DVD cases and game controllers and other miscellany that doesn't look at all comfortable, and he sits back on it stiffly as they each take a side and hold and talk to him in low, murmured voices. He lets them touch his face and stroke his hair and hold his hands - he even looks more peaceful than usual when they do it, sometimes - but he doesn't offer much back in return. Every time the two leave, they look worried.

You wonder if the Psiioniic feels as out of place in this new world as you do.

\--

When living arrangements had been sorted out, you'd found yourself living with Dave, the Psiioniic and his son-brother-clone-whatever, and a few others. After a week or so of petty bickering, it turned out that Dave and four-horns got along like a house on fire - playing videogames and saying stupid shit and snickering at each other and insulting each other and egging each other on to even stupider slash more epic bullshit.

(You had anticipated all the kids and trolls wanting to live together in some huge terrible dorm-style setup, but they'd decided to split up into clusters instead. When you'd asked Dave about it, he said something about trolls habitually killing each other and you'd left it well enough alone after that.) 

You've taken to chilling with four-horns the elder wordlessly in the living room in the mornings. You sip shitty coffee and channel surf through the weird mishmash of Alternian and Earth-originated channels on the TV, and he does... You're actually not sure what he does. He has a red-and-blue visor that works like your iShades, and you can only assume he's either using it or getting his snooze on.

"This bothering you?" you ask, mostly because you want to say something to him, not because you think he actually has a problem with you watching TV. 

You keep your eyes trained on the screen. 

He doesn't say anything. 

"I can turn the volume down," you continue to prod.

He still doesn't say anything, but your shades blip. New Pesterchum message. 

TA: IIt's fIIne. 

You stare at the message for a second, then glance at him from the corner of your eye. He hasn't moved. But his visor is still up, and who else could it be if not him?

"Uh, not gonna talk to me, dude? I'm right here."

TA: IIf IIt's all the same to you, II prefer communIIcatIIng lIIke thIIs. 

Jesus.

TT: Sure, but it doesn't hurt to verbalize once in a while. I don't think I've heard more than two words out of you since we got here.

You feel kind of moronic, thinking at your shades instead of talking to him like a normal person when he's right fucking next to you, but you'd feel even sillier talking out loud seemingly to yourself. Even though no one else is around to see.

TA: II apprecIIate the concern, but II'd apprecIIate IIt even more IIf you kept IIt to yourself.

His response is rapid-fire, appearing on the client almost immediately after yours. You snort.

TT: Okay. So, what are you doing? Surfing the interwebs? Checking out some sweet xeno pronz?

Alright, you're being juvenile, but you don't care. It'll be worth it if you can get some sort of reaction out of him. 

Your admittedly pathetic shot has absolutely no effect. 

TA: II am endeavorIIng to learn more about thIIs strange planet that we're on.  
TT: And how is that going?  
TA: IIt would go more quIIckly IIf II were allowed to contIInue my research unmolested by other IInhabIItants of the hIIve.  
TT: It'd probably go even *more* quickly if you, like, actually went outside or something.  
TA: Please see lIIne 4.  
TT: Wow, fine.

You roll your eyes and close the client, taking another sip of your now-lukewarm coffee and leaving him to it. 

\--

His clothes cover a lot of skin. Boy looks like he's wearing a damn wetsuit. 

(You call him "boy" out of habit, but really you've no idea how old he is. He has one of those puzzling countenances that looks old and young at once, and it confuses you.) 

You never see anything besides his hands and his face - his wrists if you're lucky. So when you walk into the living room one afternoon and see him with his arms raised, pulling his shirt over his head with his psionics, you do a double take. 

Your surprise must be obvious despite your shades since Psiioniic Junior (you should _really_ learn all their names at some point) narrows his eyes at you defensively.

"Everything's fine. We just had a little accident," he says. _Acthident._ He's holding his hand out for the shirt his ancestor is holding and you notice the glass of spilled juice on the floor. 

You nod at him - Sollux, that was it. Nodding at Sollux will hopefully pull your attention away from the _holes_ lining the Psiioniic's back - metal-lined holes, surrounded by spiraling scar tissue, that go deep into his spine. Mesmerizing. 

But why hadn't they healed? You'd all come back whole and uninjured. Why hadn't it worked that way for him?

Sollux takes the shirt and grabs the Psiioniic by the wrist, pulling him towards his respiteblock, presumably to fetch a new shirt. You see the Psiioniic glance down to where Sollux is touching him, distantly, like he doesn't quite understand it.

After that, you make a promise to yourself - even if _you_ can't get back in touch, you're going to help _him_. You don't know what's going on - maybe this is a response to trauma he experienced during the game? - but you've never seen anyone so disconnected from their own body, not to mention the rest of reality. 

This probably isn't _the_ new purpose for you, but one purpose is as good as any other, you think.

\--

This isn't turning out exactly how you would have expected. 

You had challenged the Psiioniic to a strife on the roof - first, as part of your new plan to shake him out of whatever sense of detachment he's got going on and, second, because you were really fucking bored. He seemed reluctant at first, but he had eventually given in once it became apparent you'd continue to bother him until he did. He did not take too kindly to the bothering. He had actually _sparked_ at you at one point, which you were quite proud of.

(But honestly, he was probably pretty bored, too.)

Now, you're flashstepping around him like a dervish, but you haven't landed a single scratch on him so far, and the bastard has barely even moved a step. Every time you think you're about to land a blow, he moves ever so slightly to one side or sends out a fizz of psionics that parries your attack, making your blade glance off of thin air. To add insult to injury, he hasn't even tried to attack you once yet - he's just standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, typical unreadable expression on his face.

You're tempted to taunt him, bait him somehow, but that would be cheap, so you don't. It's more interesting this way, anyway. All you need is to get through his defenses - just a second, even less than that, would do it...

Your feint actually works. You're almost too surprised to follow through, but you do - you run right up to him and bring your sword to his throat, opening your mouth in a triumphant shout...

Your feet are no longer touching the ground.

Bright white light is all around you, enveloping you like a tangible substance, heavy and irresistible. You feel as though you're drowning. You're reaching out your arms in front of you, and you want to move but your entire body is frozen. No matter how much you try, your limbs don't respond to you. Your eyes are wide behind your shades and your mouth is still open but moreso in a silent scream, now.

He's standing with one hand raised in a "stop" gesture, looking calmly up at you. You are reminded of unstoppable forces of nature - tsunamis, hurricanes. Disasters that are the products of such raw power that they are inevitable.

Suddenly it hits you that all the displays of his psionics you've seen up until now have all been nothing but drops in the ocean. Including him currently suspending you in the air and pushing you closer and closer to the roof's edge. This is all as easy as blinking, to him. He probably hardly even needs to think about any of this. And the hand-raise? Most likely thoroughly superfluous - an overly obvious gesture purely for your benefit.

This is both sublimely brilliant and so, so terrifying.

Your feet dangle over empty space - trees and lawnring underneath you. For a second, his stoic moue breaks and he _smirks_ , one fang exposed, and the expression is so natural that it adds another layer of giddiness on top of the adrenalin rush you already have going on from being this close to being pitched off the side of a building.

Eventually, as he lowers you back down and your feet touch solid mass again, you realize bemusedly that you're half-hard.

Once you regain control of your limbs, you stand there, hunched over, hands on your knees, panting, sweating, shaking. He's already turned around and silently floated back to the apartment, but you stay there for a good few minutes, the absolute thrill of it zinging through you. You feel like a live wire. Raw. Destructive. 

When you head back downstairs, you make a bee-line for your room, unzip your pants and pull your cock out. Fuck taking clothes off. You hadn't thought about sex much since you came back, you kind of had other things on your mind, but now your newly re-awakened libido hits you with a force that takes your breath away. 

You jerk yourself off while leaning against your locked door, furiously, desperately, like a goddamn teenager, and you try to imagine him touching you - with his hands, with his psionics - but you can't. He is an entity, an abstraction, and with basic physics in the palm of his hand why would he ever want something like that, especially with someone like you? In the face of that freaky light show of his, you're powerless. He could have closed the hand he held out during the strife, making a fist, and your body might have collapsed in on itself. He could have vaporized you, obliterated you into dust, and it would have been as if you had never even existed.

The Psiioniic could completely destroy you with a thought, if he wanted to. And you couldn't do a thing to stop him.

You come over your hand and your jeans, messily, and you almost fall on your ass with the intensity of it but manage to catch yourself just in time. 

You want him unspeakably badly.

\--

A few hours later, you run into Dave alone in the kitchen and casually bring up your observation that the sockets along the Psiioniic's spine hadn't healed.

"Yeah, because technically they aren't injuries," says Dave, and then his face goes tight like he's said something he shouldn't have. (He's so much easier to read now, but you don't comment on it.) 

He tells you the rest when you press him and you promise to not say anything to anyone else. 

\--

The next morning, you fire up your shades as soon as you sit down next to him.

TT: Dave told me about the whole Helmsman thing.  
TT: Or, well. I tricked him into it.  
TT: I'm sorry about that, by the way. When I set out to find out what your deal was I never imagined that it would be that... heavy.  
TT: But I'm just letting you know that I know. You deserve to know that. Since we're bros.  
TA: The amount of knowledge you have acquIIred makes no dIIfference to me.  
TT: Uh huh.  
TA: And II do not recall havIIng any bonds of genetIIc kIInshIIp wIIth you. Our dIIfference IIn specIIes would make that IImpossIIble.  
TT: Dude. When you engage in brutal, non-lethal beatdowns with someone, you're automatically bros after the fact.  
TA: ThIIs sounds lIIke one of your bIIzarre human tradIItIIons, so II wIIll take your word for IIt.  
TT: There ya go.  
TT: So.  
TT: What was it like?  
TT: Being the engine of an intergalactic starship, I mean.  
TA: II do not understand the questIIon.  
TT: It's a pretty straightforward question, bro.  
TA: No.  
TA: IIt IIs the equIIvalent of me askIIng you what IIt IIs lIIke to walk, move, or breathe.  
TT: Wow. Seriously?  
TT: You weren't always a ship, though. You aren't one right now.  
TT: My point is that you have some basis for comparison.  
TA: The former was a long tIIme ago.  
TA: The latter

There is a pause. Not a very long pause, but considering how instantaneous his responses usually are it feels like forever.

TA: II have felt IIncomplete ever sIInce my regeneratIIon.  
TA: II am but a mIInute pIIece  
TA: Of a whole  
TA: That no longer exIIsts  
TA: II  
TA: II do not wIIsh to dwell on thIIs topIIc any further  
TA: Can we stop, please  
TT: Sure, don't sweat it.  
TT: What are we doing sitting around flapping our virtual gums anyway.  
TT: Strife?  
TA: By "strIIfe" are you referrIIng to beIIng subjected to my psIIonIIcs, whIIle each and every one of your attempts at resIIstance consIIstently and pathetIIcally faIIl?  
TT: Maybe.

Perhaps you're just imagining it, but you think you see one corner of his mouth quirk up in the ghost of a smile.

TA: IIn that case,  
TA: Yes.


End file.
